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Giorno sighed with a wince as he pulled himself out of the car, heavy with exhaustion. This had not been an easy mission. How was he supposed to know that a Stand that took the form of vines and thorns would only get stronger when hit with Gold Experience's power instead of the usual repercussions?
Mista, Fugo, and Bucciarati followed him, also a little roughed up, but not as badly as Giorno who the user seemed to have a particular vendetta against.
"I can patch your injuries up if you want, Giorno," Fugo told him.
Giorno vaguely remembered that Fugo's method of patching up involved staples and duct tape and fought a shudder. It was a good thing his Stand could heal, as exhausted as he was. Besides, he would have to take his shirt off completely to treat some of the wounds and he wasn't exactly okay with that…
"It's okay, I'll have Gold Experience do it," Giorno told Fugo, making his way slowly into the house, wanting to shut himself away in his room as quickly as possible.
"Giorno?" Bucciarati called after him, but Giorno simply tossed an "I'm fine" over his shoulder and hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, as quickly as his battered body could go.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed his door behind him. Ever since Abbacchio had accidently seen his scars he had tried to be more careful. He just really didn't want to have to recount the story of where they had come from to his new family. Not yet.
He crossed the room to shakily slump onto the end of his bed, letting out a groan as he assessed his injuries. A lot of lacerations, pretty badly bruised ribs that he couldn't do anything about. And there was still a very sharp pain in his lower back for some reason.
No point in putting it off any longer though. He stood and unzipped his coat, pulling it from his shoulders with a wince. He had a pretty bad gash on his upper arm and another across his collarbone. He stepped over to the mirror by the closet and let the coat fall to the floor. Probably had too many holes to be worth saving, but it wasn't like the Don of Passione couldn't get a new suit when he needed one. He winced at his bruised side that was quickly turning black and blue and braced himself as he turned his back to the mirror and tried to see why it was hurting so much.
Giorno forced his eyes away from the scars, lurking under the fresh cuts and blood smeared across his pale skin and focused in on the spot that was giving him so much pain.
Ah, that was why.
There was a huge, probably five-inch thorn from that Stand buried under his skin. He thought he had pulled all those out already, but he guessed he had missed this one.
He summoned Gold Experience, his injured shoulder and side making it impossible for him to reach behind himself to pull it out. Even his Stand's fingers fumbled though, affected by Giorno's sheer exhaustion. It seemed that vine Stand had actually sucked up his energy instead of being repelled by it. His own Stand was usually so precise, but with his own exhaustion Gold slipped trying to get the thorn out and Giorno let out a sharp yelp, feeling fresh blood trickle down his back. He grabbed hold of the closet door to steady himself and took a deep breath. It must be pressing on some nerve to hurt so badly. "Okay, try it again," he finally commanded, a little breathless.
A knock on the door caused him to jolt. "Giorno? Are you all right? I have some bandages."
Bucciarati. Giorno didn't get the chance to tell him he was fine, he snatched his discarded coat up and slung it over his shoulders just as the door opened, revealing the capo, who had a concerned look on his face.
"Giorno?" he asked as the young man pressed himself against his closet door.
"D-don't look," he nearly begged, panic making him desperate.
Bucciarati stopped, frowning, holding a tray of medical supplies in front of him. "Giorno, what's wrong? What happened?"
Giorno felt his heart start to beat rapidly, Gold Experience hovered at his back, phantom hands on his shoulders, shielding him, and Bucciarati placed the tray onto Giorno's desk before taking a step toward the boy.
"Nothing happened, it's fine, I can heal myself." Giorno said firmly.
Bucciarati stopped, his frown increasing. He held out his hand.
"Here, at least let me take that coat of yours to get it cleaned up."
"No!" Giorno said, only holding the garment closer to him.
Exasperation flashed across Bucciarati's face, his hands went to his hips. "Giorno, you're being ridiculous. Tell me what's wrong so I can help you!"
His face turned to shock as Giorno cowered instinctively and slowly slumped to the ground, his knees turning to jelly. Bruno's face instantly softened to one of parental concern and he carefully crouched next to him.
"Giorno…" He reached out and Giorno flinched away, closing his eyes and clutching his jacket around his shoulders as he told himself he was okay, he wasn't back there. It wasn't him.
"Giorno." Bucciarati said again. "If you're hurt, let me help you. You're exhausted, and I would rather not see you suffer. I know what that Stand fight took out of you."
Giorno took a shuddering breath and finally looked up, even though he was still unable to meet Bucciarati's eyes. "I just…It's…complicated."
Bucciarati's face softened impossibly further, a look of understanding in his eyes. "Giorno, I have never judged anyone without knowing the full story, and whatever secrets you have are safe with me. I promise."
Giorno blinked up at him, remembering that even Abbacchio hadn't mocked him for his scars. How the older gangster had even recommended that Giorno go to Bucciarati if he needed to talk. Still…he had wanted it to be his choice, not like this.
Though, if left up to him, would he ever have gone to Bucciarati? Maybe it was easier this way after all.
He took a deep, shaky breath and finally allowed Gold Experience to dissipate. "Th-there's a thorn stuck in my back…" he said.
Bucciarati seemed to be relieved by this admission, having a purpose. He nodded, standing up and offering a hand to Giorno. "Why don't you come sit down then so I can get that out?"
Giorno gave a shaky nod and allowed Bruno to pull him to his feet, helping him over to sit on the edge of the bed. He went to get the tray of first aid stuff, obviously giving Giorno a moment to uncover his back. He didn't. He couldn't seem to stop clutching the ruined coat around himself.
"Giorno? May I see?" Bruno finally asked.
Giorno was silent for a long moment before he nodded. But he still didn't move. Bucciarati waited a second before he reached out cautiously and when Giorno didn't stop him, carefully wrested the coat from Giorno's grip, slipping it away to reveal his back.
Giorno ducked his head so he couldn't see the older man's expression, shuddering uncontrollably as Bruno gently gripped his uninjured shoulder and bent him forward to better see his lower back.
He tsked. "My, that does look nasty. Good thing I brought some tweezers."
Giorno flinched as cold metal hit his tender skin but Bucciarati steadied him and with just a little painful digging, pulled the long thorn out as swiftly as possible before he set to cleaning the wound and taping some gauze over it. He then continued up Giorno's back, and Bucciarati's gentle fingers brushing against his scars were suddenly too much. Giorno jerked away, burying his face in his hands.
"Stop!" he choked out.
"Giorno…"
"I know you see them!" he burst out. "I know they're disgusting. But I'm not weak like that anymore. I—I'm not!"
Bucciarati's hand stilled. "Is that what you think? That having scars makes you weak?"
Giorno jerked his head away, biting his lip until he could taste blood. "I couldn't stop it," he whispered, choking. "That makes me weak."
Bruno swiftly finished up with the bandages and came around to face Giorno, crouching to cup his face in his hands. "It doesn't. We all have scars in one way or another. It doesn't make you weak, it shows that you're capable of surviving."
Giorno blinked and a tear slipped down his face. Bucciarati gently wiped it away with a thumb.
"Mio caro ragazzo," the older man said gently as he reached for Giorno's robe that was lying on the bed where he'd left it that morning. He tucked it around him, covering him up again. "There's no need to feel ashamed."
"He was a bastard," Giorno gritted out. "My mother wasn't any better."
"I'm sorry," Bucciarati said sincerely. "If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here."
"I know," Giorno said with a sniff. "That's what Abbacchio told me."
Bruno looked slightly surprised at that revelation but smiled. "Well, I'm here whenever you're ready. For now, how about some tea…?"
He stopped when Giorno reached out and grabbed his sleeve before he could leave. He didn't know why but he didn't want to be left alone again right now. Didn't like the way his thoughts crashed into each other, weighing him down. Another tear slipped unbidden down his cheek. He must be exhausted.
"Giorno?" Bruno inquired gently.
"Thank you," Giorno whispered. "For—for everything."
He was already tilting but when Bruno stepped forward, he gratefully leaned into his warmth. Bucciarati's arms wrapped around him gently and held him close, rocking him slightly as Giorno's arms wrapped around his waist enjoying the kind of love he had never gotten from his parents as a child. Bruno's hand swiped over his mussed hair, his other lightly stroking his back in a soothing gesture. Giorno decided he was okay being weak right now. Whether he was the Don of Passione or not.
But, eventually Giorno loosened his grip, realizing how long they had been in this position and Bruno pulled away with a fatherly kiss pressed to Giorno's forehead.
"Let's finish getting you cleaned up, hm?" he suggested matter-of-factly. "Then, it's up to you whether you want to come down and join us for supper or if you would rather get some rest."
Giorno sat up a little straighter. He was tired, but even more, he just really wanted to be with his family right now. A reminder that he was no longer living in his past. That it was now nothing more than the product of nightmares and bad memories.
"I'm kind of hungry," he said.
Bucciarati smiled brightly and nodded. "Very well then."
He quickly finished up with the bandages and helped Giorno into a comfortable sweatshirt before allowing him to head downstairs. Giorno was instantly greeted with Mista and Trish arguing about something and Narancia whining to Abbacchio as he and Fugo worked on supper, but the chaos was welcome, and he couldn't help but smile. This was his life now and he wouldn't trade it for anything.